Now Look What You've Done
by fingernailcoloredwalls
Summary: Paul and Peter take new victims. Peter doesn't appreciate the attention being spent on one particular member of the family. COMPLETE but I would still like some reviews!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter ONE

He wasn't sure, but it looked like Paul was enjoying their latest victim too much. He wasn't sure, but it seemed like he'd incapacitated the parents first for a reason.

Paul had set in motion a rousing game of Cat in the Bag. Peter had the role of holding a pillowcase tight around the girl's little brother's neck. The girl was crying like they all do with their dresses around their ankles and their makeup smeared. Little whore. She couldn't have been nineteen.

"All of it," Paul said evenly.

"No," she sobbed. "Please."

Peter glanced at Paul, then dug his fingernail's into the back of the kid, James' neck, pinching the flesh. It was effective. The kid yelped and his sister stripped fully, shaking and sniffling.

The father lay unconscious on the carpet, the mother bound tightly on the couch, her eyes squeezed shut. Both abductors looked over the naked girl. Paul wet his lips and Peter anticipated him telling her to get dressed.

"There," Paul said, chipper. "Not so hard. Why are you crying? You should be proud of that body. I understand why Tubby here cries when he gets naked, but you?"

Peter huffed angrily. "Stop calling me Tubby," he said in that childish voice.

"Oh," Paul mock-grumbled, nodding toward his partner. "He doesn't like that." He poked a finger at Peter's soft chest.

Peter just gripped the pillowcase. He could feel the kid breathing, the occasional vibration of a whimper. Did this game usually last so long?

Almost on cue the mother piped up. "Let her get dressed now," she said, voice quavering.

Paul smiled, gave a small breath of a laugh. "Like looking into a mirror of the past, huh, Mrs. Grady? Don't worry, with some work, you can look that good, too."

"Yeah, right," Peter mumbled, and Paul laughed with fake incredulousness.

"Tubby, be nice."

Peter thought Paul might suggest the mother strip as well, which he wouldn't mind as long as it took some goddamn attention of the whore daughter.

"Can I please put my clothes on?" the girl, Ronnie, begged softly, arms crossed over her small breasts.

"What's your hurry? You don't need to be shy. Does she, Tom?"

He wasn't sure, but he thought Paul used the nickname because he could sense Peter getting restless.

"Not at all," Peter said quietly. He smiled his small smile. "Not if we're going to play some more games." He hoped the hint would move things along.

"I have a new game," Paul said, leaning forward, hands together, lips split in a TV host grin. "It's called How Bad Do You Want to Live?"

X

Paul had handed him a baseball bat and told him to watch the rest of the family. He took the naked girl into the other fucking room.

Peter pulled the pillow case off the boy's head. The kid was probably twelve or thirteen. He sat the boy next to him and sighed. "He's breaking the rule," Peter mumbled. He rested a gloved hand on James' head and plucked out a brown hair; the kid flinched. Peter pulled out another and another.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Paul moan.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Peter looked up silently when Paul came back with the girl. She was wearing a new outfit, shorts and a t-shirt. At least there was that.

"Who won?" Peter asked blandly, and Paul burst into laughter.

The night had worn on for a while and no was too enthusiastic anymore. Ronnie didn't even try to break her fall when Paul tossed her to the ground.

"I'm pretty hungry," Paul said, scratching his chest. "I bet you are too, huh, Tubby?"

"So?" Peter said defensively. "I haven't eaten anything since yesterday."

"Sure, yeah. I'll get us something. Why don't you tie up the rest of the family?"

"It's just a precaution," Peter said apologetically as he wound the roll of tape around the still unconscious Mr. Grady's ankles. "And don't worry," he said when he turned to Ronnie. "No one will blame you. When they do the autopsy and find the semen, no one will think you're a little slut." He watched her face crumble. He was watching her so intently that he almost didn't notice the shadow falling over him.

Peter turned just in time to see James, ever the little hero, swing the baseball bat down on his face.

"Shit!" Peter yelled, clutching his spurting nose, blinking back the gray that came with the pain. James swung again, shouting wordlessly, and missed. Peter reached out and pulled the kid's leg out from under him. He ripped the bat from the boy's hands and slammed the butt of it into his heaving chest. Peter's own shoulders were rising and falling with deep breaths. Anger contorted his face but he said quite calmly, "Now look what you've done." He swung the bat hard against Mr. Grady's head, grunting. "I told you before—" he swung again, and there was a loud _crack! _"—that what you do affects the rest of the family." The kid was sobbing and gasping.

"What happened?" Paul appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened. "Jesus. What happened to your face?" Peter strode out of the room quickly and when he came back in with a wad of paper towels pressed to his face, the rest of the family was tied up with the tape.

"Let me see," Paul said. He examined Peter's blood-smeared face.

"Is it broken?" Peter whined.

"Nah," Paul said after a moment, releasing his partner-in-crime's chin. "Don't worry, your face is still as disfigured as before."

"He hit me," Peter sulked.

"Yeah, well, his parents probably didn't raise him with any manners," Paul said angrily. "Kids these days. Hey, quit pouting. We can still play."

"Fine," he said quietly.

"Great." Paul clapped his gloves together and turned to the family. "Huh." His smile fell. "Look at that, all four of them alive. We should start thinking about that bet, huh?"

"We're gonna lose at this pace."

"Let's see. Eenie-meenie-miney-mo! Look at that, Dad's practically dead already. Hm." He leaned over the man on the carpet, cocking his head. He held the baseball bat in both hands. "Beating someone to death isn't very efficient. Peter," he declared, "we need a knife."

"_You_ were just _in_ there," Peter said, pulling away the wad of paper towels and giving it a quick look. "Did you even find any food?"

"It's in there, all right? I didn't grab it, I was too focused on you crying about your gorgeous face."

"I wasn't crying," Peter muttered, turning and walking out of the room. On the kitchen island there was a Tupperware container with a few leftover hamburger patties, shaped by hand. He stuck the container in the microwave while he pawed through the drawers. His gloved hand came out with a long serrated knife.

There was a scream from the next room.

Peter grabbed the food and walked back to the game room.

"You sick son of a bitch!" Mrs. Grady shrieked. "Don't fucking touch her again!"

"Janet," Paul was saying calmly, crouched in front of the woman on the couch. "You need to calm down. I mean, you're not really in control here."

"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

"Please. You're scaring the children. Why don't you take a breath," he paused to demonstrate, "and we can play some more games? Hm?"

Peter sat heavily on the easy chair, watching, picking at the meat.

Mrs. Grady didn't say anything more. Paul smiled, patted her on the knee, and got to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head, sighing; Peter's eyes flicked over him.

"Ah," Paul said abruptly, turning to his partner-in-crime. "May I?" He held out his hand.

"But of course."

Paul examined the knife, making it glint against the overhead light. Peter thought he was just being dramatic.

"No, no, no," Ronnie moaned, pressing her face to her knees.

It was like a movie he'd once seen, when he was younger. Paul raised and brought down the knife hard, until Mr. Grady's writhing body went still. Peter nibbled at a patty, watching the blood spread and pool.


	3. Chapter 3

If the family was tired of playing before, now they were downright uncooperative. They sat like depressed crying zombies on the couch. Paul observed them, knife in hand, lips pulled to one side.

"They look bored. I think they need a break. To, you know, rethink their strategy." He looked to Peter. "Well. Come on."

Peter stood, holding out the container of meat. Paul took it and picked out one of the remaining patties. He dropped the container on the side table and they both walked out of the room.

"Thanks for having us over," Paul called out. "I'm just gonna leave your knife in the sink."

Outside the sun was just coming out. Peter got in the passenger side of Mr. Grady's little black sports car.

"Been a while since we've had one of these, hm?" Paul fell into the driver's seat, popping the last morsel of meat into his mouth. He pulled the keys, which Peter had found on a hook by the door, out of his pocket.

"Uh-huh," Peter muttered, looking out the window.

Paul stopped with his hand halfway to the ignition. "What the fuck are you moping about?" He didn't ask it harshly. More curious, with undertones of indignation.

Peter opened his mouth and let out a small breath before answering, "I'm not."

Paul started the car and began backing out of the driveway, onto the short road that led to the front gate.

"It's just..." Peter mumbled.

"What?"

"Are you going to act like that didn't happen?"

Paul didn't say anything. He pressed the button on the keychain that opened the gate, and swung the car onto the main road.

"With that girl, I mean—"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Paul said. "What do you want me to say."

"You were the one that said. I mean it was _your_ rule." Peter kept his eyes on the road. "I don't get why you let that stuck-up... girl touch you, and..." He broke off, leaning his head back.

"And what? And you can't?"

Peter kept the horrified look off his face. He swallowed. "That isn't what I was going to say."

Paul glanced at him. "You haven't exactly been very subtle there, Tubby."

"Don't call me that," he said softly.

"It's not that I _care_," Paul went on. "You just better pull it together before we get back to the Gradys'. Imagine what they would think if they saw you acting like this." He was picking up speed now, the car flying down the unbending road.

It crossed Peter's mind to be offended, but he couldn't. He never really could with Paul. They were supposed to be equals in this, but Paul always gave off a superior air that suggested he was in charge.

"Okay," Peter said.

Paul shook his head and laughed.

xx

Paul exited the car first, leaning against it while Peter undid his seatbelt, rubbed a hand over his face, and got out himself. Peter joined Paul at the hood of the car, where they both watched the house in silence.

The light in the kitchen was on, seeping out the curtains. Probably one of the Gradys had gotten a knife.

"What time is it?" Paul asked.

"Five."

"Hm. Well we don't want to give them too big a head start." He pushed off the car and they both walked back to the house. The front door was locked. Paul smiled a little. "That doesn't happen too often. They really want to win."

"Yeah," Peter said. He picked through the flower bed to the kitchen window, which was cracked open. No one ever really thought too hard when their lives were in jeopardy. He pulled back the curtain and looked inside, squinting. The kitchen was empty. "No one in here," he said.

Paul was trying the second key on the ring. He sighed when it didn't work. Peter made his way back and stopped at his side. The next key fit and Paul glanced at Peter before opening the door. "Level Two," he said, grinning.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

It didn't take long for them to find and subdue the remains of the family. Mrs. Grady had hidden the children away in an upstairs closet. She was waiting at the top of the stairs with a knife. She'd actually surprised Paul, who stumbled back but grabbed the railing—even then his glove slipped, taking him down a few more steps. He'd managed to grab her and throw her down the stairs, where she landed at Peter's feet, the knife skidding across the floor.

Paul stomped downstairs and grabbed her by the hair. Peter took over the search upstairs, gripping the knife as he went from room to room, calling softly, "Ollie ollie oxen free."

In no time everyone was settled in the living room, retied. Paul smiled at the family. "You guys are good. I mean most people would've tried to run, but you—" He laughed. "Took me completely by surprise. Well done."

Ronnie groaned suddenly, anguished, her face contorted. "Why are you doing this?" she wailed.

Paul's grin widened. "I thought you'd never ask. Peter can tell you." He looked over at him. "Right, Tom?"

Peter shook his head vaguely. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Tom. Our hosts would like to know why. Aren't you the one who said we had to be honest with each other?"

Peter's lower lip began trembling. "It's private."

"There are no secrets here." Paul looked back at the family, who was watching with disgusted interest. "Tubby here... never had a father. Old man ran out when he was born."

"Stop it." Peter's voice cracked.

"He had three sisters and his mother... I mean, you can guess the ending to that story. Overprotective mom.

"Actually, it's a surprise she never knew about the neighbor touching him."

Peter choked down a sob. "That's not true. We just played games."

"Yeah. At first. You know, they never put the guy away. He could still be out there." Paul nodded. "Mm-hm. That's why he's gay. And why he's a killer. He's so desperate to fit in and have some sort of approval that he follows me around, hoping I'll pat him on the head and tell him what a good boy he is."

Peter was crying fully by then, head bowed, cheeks flushed. "You bastard," he managed hoarsely.

"And me, I'm a drug addict." He motioned to the dark circles under his eyes, actually a symptom of all the sleepless nights spent killing. "I'm just here for your valuables. No one leaves jewels lying around their empty vacation homes, so we wait for someone to show up. And then, of course, we need to make sure you can't identify us. Hence, the—" He cut his thumb across his neck. "_Kkkk._"

"Actually," Paul leaned back, crossing his legs, "me and Peter go way back. I found him coked out on the streets, begging for change. Being the gracious human being that I am, I allowed him into my home. Turns out his dad had been beating him. He finally ran away, and..."

"Stop it!" Mrs. Grady shrieked. "Just stop!"

Peter was sniveling and gasping quietly.

Paul smiled, empty, at her. Then at Ronnie. "Did you get what you wanted? You made Tubby cry.

"You know, the truth is Peter's religion was very strict. From an early age all forms of sexual act were so fought against and portrayed as wrong that he became impotent. Now he has to kill. Uh to release all the pent up sexual frustration." He laughed.

Peter sniffed and smiled. That was a new one.

Paul looked at him, beaming. "That was good, huh?"

Peter blinked away his tears. He pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose, and returned it to his pocket. "It's almost six."

"Jeez, that late already? Mrs. Grady, do you happen to own a gun?"

Her eyes widened with realization. Although she said nothing, Paul had his answer. "Hindsight's 20/20," he chuckled, and pushed off the couch. "Probably the bedroom closet. Don't get up, I'll find it."

Peter watched him retreat and settled into the couch.

"I think he wasn't so far off with his stories," Ronnie spoke up suddenly.

"Ronnie, don't," James begged.

Peter looked at her curiously. "Pardon?"

"You do just follow him around." Her teeth were gritted. "Like a fucking puppy."

Peter shifted in his seat, sucked on his teeth. "I already don't like you," he said calmly.

"He just keeps kicking you and kicking you and you stay around for more. It's fucking pathetic. When are you gonna grow a backbone?"

Peter wet his lips and contemplated that. "Yeah," he said finally, thoughtfully. "I guess you really got me."

"You can pretend all you want." Her voice shook with barely contained... exasperation? ...Hope? "You can help us."

He leaned back, looking at the ceiling. "I can't help anyone," he said.

"You can," she said excitedly. "You can help us. P-Peter. Get the gun. When he comes back." Tears spilled out of her eyes. "You can still save us. Save yourself."

Peter looked her square in the eyes, breathing shakily. "All he does... is fuck with my head."

They were all looking to him now, with eyes so big and full of hope. Maybe, maybe...

"Found it," Paul announced, entering the room. All three of the Gradys jumped. He waved the revolver in the air. "This should speed things up."

Peter stood, held out a trembling hand. "May I?"

"Yeah." Paul handed off the gun. The family tensed. "I have another game. Let's play pretend." He turned to the family, their eyes so big with possibilities of freedom, of peace. "We'll pretend you're all on a game show. And each of you has ten seconds to tell me why you personally should live. The winner... gets to choose who dies next. Do we all understand? Peter?"

Peter nodded, gulping. Their eyes, they were so goddamn eager.

"First we decide who makes the starting speech. Who gets the ball rolling." Paul, he didn't even know. He began pointing them out. "Eenie meenie minee mo, catch a tiger by the toe. Eenie meenie minee—"

"Mo," Peter said. There was a loud crack of a gunshot.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Ronnie's convulsing body fell to the ground, her stomach torn right open.

"Jesus!" Paul ripped the gun from Peter's hands. Aside from trembling, Peter didn't react. "What'd you do that for?"

Peter lowered his hands. "You... You didn't hear what she said."

Mrs. Grady screamed, dropping to the floor beside her dead daughter.

"That's no excuse, Tubby!" Paul grabbed James by the collar before he could bolt out of the room like it looked like he was about to. "That game was specifically for three people."

Peter lowered his head.

"We'll have to play something else now," Paul said in an exasperated tone.

"I'm sorry," Peter whined. "You didn't hear..."

Paul looked at the body, sighing. He tossed James on the couch and crouched to meet Mrs. Grady's eyes. He spoke to her over Ronnie's body. "Janet."

She sobbed and sobbed.

"Are you just going to give up?"

Peter walked around them and sat next to James on the couch. The kid was shaking and breathing hard.

"You still have your son to think of," Paul said, nodding towards the boy. "Are you just going to give up on him? Hm? Your baby boy?"

Slowly, she raised her face to him, and shook her head.

"Good. That's good to hear." He gave her a toothy smile. "We're gonna play a game now."

She sniffed, putting the heel of her hand to her forehead. "Why don't you just kill us?"

"That wouldn't be very fun, now would it?" He stood up. "Now, I'm glad you have this kind of gun." He opened up the cylinder and let all but one of the bullets fall out. He stuck them in his pocket hastily, then spun the chamber. "This is a game we all know, and we can definitely play with just two people. Peter, think of a number between one and ten. Got it?"

Peter rolled his eyes up in thought, then nodded.

"Now, Mrs. Grady, I'll give you the first guess. Pick a number."

She didn't say anything and Paul's smile fell. "Janet?"

"Four," she whispered.

Peter patted James on the head. "Your turn."

"Seven?" he murmured.

"Well, Tom?" Paul asked. "What was the number?"

"Eight."

"All right. That means James, you get to go first." He aimed the gun at the kid's head and squeezed the trigger. Click. James flinched, and broke down crying.

Paul spun the cylinder and fired at Mrs. Grady. Click. He grinned. "You both survived Round One." He opened up the cylinder, dug out another bullet from his pocket, and thumbed it in. "Round Two is a little trickier. You want to try, Tom?"

"Yes, please." Peter held out his hand and took the gun. He pressed it to James' chest. "Just in case," he asked, voice soft, "do you have any last words, or...?" When the kid said nothing, Peter pulled the trigger. Another click.

Paul smiled, letting out a breath of a laugh. Peter glanced at him, grinning, and spun the cylinder. Pointed the gun at Mrs. Grady. "How about you, ma'am? Something to say?"

"I hope you rot in hell."

The gun jerked and blasted in Peter's hand, killing Mrs. Grady instantly. Her body fell, slumped over her daughter's.

Both killers looked at James, the last player.

[you know what would be awesome? More reviews. :D ]


	6. Chapter 6

[Not sure, this might be the final chapter]

Chapter Six

James doubled over, crying silently. "Please don't hurt me," he whimpered.

Peter patted and rubbed his back with one hand. "Your family is dead, James."

"Yeah," Paul said gently. "What do you want to live for, anyway?"

"I don't know," he wailed. "I just don't want to die."

Paul looked down at him, eyebrows knitted. "How about this. Let's play pretend. Say Peter and I decide to let you live—now this is all hypothetical, of course. Pretend we pack it in, shake your hand, and walk right out the front door. Now what do you do?"

"I—I..." He pulled in several deep, rattling breaths. "I would go live with family—"

"No," Paul insisted. "Even before that. I mean right after we walk out the door."

He sniffed, frowning; trying his damndest not to break down. "Go to the neighbor's, I guess."

"Your neighbors can't help you. They're dead. Now what?"

James looked from Paul to Peter, then down at his lap. "Go to the next house."

"That won't work," Paul said. "Me and Peter went straight there from your house. But say you spot us in a window and get away without us seeing you. Now what?" Paul was leaning forward, almost enthralled, eyes wide and shining.

James sobbed, putting his face in his hands.

"Well?" Peter prodded.

"I'll wave down a car," James choked out.

"That won't work, either. Me and Peter are driving the car. Now what?"

"I'll flag down a boat."

"Me and Peter are steering the boat."

"You can't," James said, words strangled with tears. "That's not fair."

"You're getting so upset," Paul said, his voice a mix of feigned worry and amused incredulousness, "over something that hasn't even happened."

"I'm gonna die."

"But you're not dead yet. Who knows, maybe someone heard the gunshots and the police are on their way."

"But they're not," Peter said casually.

"Well, yeah. But, y'know. It's possible."

"I don't want to die," James said again.

Paul shrugged, standing up straight. "We have a few minutes to spare. How old are you, James?"

"I'm only thirteen."

"Now _that_ is a travesty. Never went to prom. Never kissed a girl. Never got drunk." He paused, smiling. "I mean I'm assuming. You never did any of that stuff, did you, Jimmy?"

"No."

He laughed a little. "That's okay. Neither has Tubby."

Peter frowned at him, but decided not to say anything.

Paul leaned in towards James. "You know," he said confidentially, "now that your parents are gone we can play some even more fun games. Your parents keep any liquor in the house?"

"I don't know," James squeaked.

Paul laughed again. "I'm kidding. Getting an underage boy drunk. What kind of people do you think we are?"

"I just don't want it to hurt," James said suddenly.

"What?"

"Dying... Just do it fast."

Peter leaned back on the couch, and Paul scratched his neck, tilting his head. "Huh. Sure thing, buddy. Tom, what time is it?"

Peter looked at his watch. "Six-thirty, about."

"Man, we're really pushing that time limit." He looked down at James, sighing. "You know, it's almost a shame. That it has to end. You guys were some really good sports. It was a lot of fun. Peter, the gun."

Peter handed it over and Paul opened the cylinder. Slowly, he clicked it so that the single bullet was in place, ready to be fired. He pointed it at James' head.

"I know you're not bad people," James said quietly, desperately.

"Yeah. You too, bud."


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

Paul sighed, throwing down the gun. It landed on the couch next to the dead boy. Peter stood up, licking his lips, wiping the blood off his arm with a gloved hand. "Let's take the car," Peter said. "I'm too tired to launch a boat."

"Don't fall asleep," Paul said.

Peter stretched, pushing a breath out of his nose while he reached up above his head. Readjusted his shirt.

They left, stepping over mother and daughter on the ground. Outside the sun was up and shining. The sky was blue and the clouds were white. Peter squinted against the light as they lowered themselves into the car. He sort of liked the time in between families, just the two of them. The short time.

Peter rolled down the window, letting in the wind that pushed against his eyes. "Anyway," he said quietly. "I was telling you about that book."


End file.
